Father's Son
by lumaluma
Summary: After being raised with an abusive father, the last thing Alfred wants is to end up like his dad. However, he worries that the saying "like father, like son" holds more truth than he used to think it did. Warnings for brief violence, swearing, and general angst. This is more of a drabble than most of my other stories, but it does still have a plot.


_Before anyone reads this, I would just like to make it clear that I have never experienced any form of abuse. However, domestic violence is a reality, and call this my way of spreading awareness, no matter how strange it may seem._

_Warnings: brief violence, swearing._

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Alfred was always jealous of the kids who looked up to their dads. Normal fathers would take their kids out for ice cream, would go to their baseball games, and would cheer no matter how bored they were. Not his dad. Alfred's dad didn't give two shits about what he did. Al knew this because his father said those exact words to him when he, six years old and excited for his first real game, asked if his dad was going to come watch. In fact, Alfred's father didn't seem to "give two shits" about a lot of things. All he did was go to work, come home, and sit on the couch. There, he'd drink can after can of beer while he watched whatever ball game was on the sports channel, then yell at Alfred's mother to hurry up with his goddamn dinner. She always ran to do whatever he said, because she knew what would happen if she didn't.

Even if she did bring him dinner when he asked for it, if Alfred's dad wasn't satisfied with it, he'd throw it on the floor and make her clean it up. The one time Al asked him why he did that, he received a half-full can of beer to the face and was told to get the hell out. After that, he learned not to say much to his father. He also learned that when his mother told him to go to his room and stay there, that she was trying to keep him from getting hurt.

Alfred was seven when he saw his father slap his mother across the face for the first time. She put a hand on her cheek where he had hit her, staring wide-eyed at him for a moment, then grabbed Alfred by the hand and dragged him out of the house. They went to her parents' house that night, and Alfred got to stay there for the next week. When they finally went home, his dad apologized and promised it would never happen again. She believed him. She shouldn't have. Alfred would hide in his room as his father got drunk and yelled horrible, hurtful things, calling Alfred's mother a stupid whore and a fucking slut and things that made her cry. It wasn't always just yelling, though. Sometimes he'd hear his mother cry out in pain, and she'd have bruises on her arms, on her back, and even a black eye once. Each time, Al's father apologized when he sobered up. He made the same promise countless times, and broke it countless times.

This went on for five years. One day, after hearing his mother plead with his father to please, _please_ stop, Alfred marched through the house to the garage, getting his baseball bat. He confronted his father in the living room, and the man laughed at him. He said Alfred didn't have the guts to use that thing, he was a whiny little bitch, and—

He never got a chance to finish that sentence, since Alfred swung the bat at his head. He missed, instead hitting his father's collarbone, but it was definitely enough to make Alfred's dad turn his attention away from his wife. He punched Al in the face, and he fell over. He was expecting to get kicked in the stomach when his mother yelled, "Don't you _dare_ hurt my baby!" and grabbed the bat, hitting her husband in the face with it. Alfred's father fell over, and Alfred scrambled to his feet. His mother took his hand and they left the house, going back to her parents' house. There, they called the police. Alfred didn't see his father again after that. He didn't care.

When Alfred was starting high school, a new boy moved to their neighborhood. His name was Matthew, he was from Canada, and his dad was one of those awesome fathers who actually cared about their kids. Alfred got to know Matt pretty well at school, and they played street hockey with the other kids on the weekends. Alfred thought Matthew was pretty cool, and Matthew seemed to feel the same way about Alfred. When Al skinned his knee really badly, Matthew helped him hobble back to his house. He got Alfred some rubbing alcohol and a bandage, and when they were sitting in the basement, playing a video game, Mr. Williams came downstairs. He tossed both of them a can of ginger ale and told them that dinner was in twenty minutes.

Alfred's family only ever ate together when it was a special occasion, so when he called his mom and asked if he could eat at Matthew's, he expected it would be a get-your-own-dinner kind of meal. He was surprised when he was told to sit at the table, and even more surprised when Matt's parents sat down too, everyone passing around the food. They all talked over dinner, Mr. Williams leading most of the conversation. Afterwards, Alfred asked Matthew if they always did dinner like that in their house. Matthew said that yes, they did. Why? Alfred shook his head. Nothing. His family just… didn't do that.

Matthew ended up being one of Alfred's best friends in high school. A little more than that, actually. Alfred pretty much stumbled into his sexuality when Matthew took his shirt off one day in the locker room after gym class, a drop of sweat running past his shoulders blades and down the ridges of his spine. Alfred tripped over his own shoes and walked into a locker when he saw that. He didn't tell Matt about it, obviously. But one day when they were doing a sleepover, the two of them sitting on Matthew's bed and eating those pull-apart red licorice twists, Alfred said he'd always wanted to do the Lady and the Tramp thing with those instead of spaghetti. Matthew asked if Alfred wanted to go for it. Alfred figured he was joking, so he played along, and it wasn't until they actually kissed that he realized Matthew wasn't just playing chicken. They both stared at each other for a moment after that, and then Al asked, nearly whispering, if Matthew wanted to do that again. He nodded, and they continued that until all the candy was gone.

They didn't talk about that night for a long time. It was quite a few years before either one of them brought it up. Only when they were in college did Matthew mention it one night when they were in Alfred's room, studying for their linear algebra midterm. Alfred had looked up from his notes to see Matthew blushing and nervously twirling a pencil in his fingers. And since he couldn't think of anything to say, he kissed Matthew. No licorice necessary.

And ten years after the two of them first met, they were still together, living together. Most of the time, everything was great, but to his horror, Alfred had discovered that when he got angry about anything, he started yelling. The last thing he wanted was to turn into his father, but what if that was just his nature? What if the saying "like father, like son" really was true?

Alfred started bottling up his anger, not wanting to take it out on Matthew. Instead, he saved it all for when he went to the batting cage, where he pretended that each ball he hit was a source of stress in his life that he was obliterating. He swung the bat as hard as he could, stayed at the batting cage for hours until he was dripping sweat, completely out of energy. It was a good way for him to keep himself under control. He also refused to drink more than one drink a night, since the mental image of his father slugging back beer after beer was too strong for him to handle. He didn't want to become that guy. And so everything went well, and Al could look in the mirror and not hate himself.

But one day, he got a speeding ticket on his way home from work, and when he told Matthew what the fine was going to be, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"Al, you know we're pretty tight on money at the moment."

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Matthew shook his head. "No, now I just have to figure out how we're going to pay the rent and buy groceries without using up all our fucking savings."

"I'm sorry."

"Why the hell do you always have to drive like a maniac, anyways? If you didn't feel the need to always drive twenty miles an hour faster than the speed limit, we wouldn't have this problem!" Matthew rolled his eyes, obviously exasperated. "I sold my car so we could save money on gas and insurance, but you just _have_ to go ahead and get a three-hundred dollar ticket. That's fucking fantastic."

Alfred closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mattie. I didn't mean to."

"No one tries to get a speeding ticket, Al, but it's completely avoidable! Where the hell are we going to get three hundred dollars, anyways? I can't exactly pull that kind of money out of my ass, you know!"

"I know. Just, be quiet, okay?"

"Be quiet? Me? Oh, that's rich. You're the one who's always telling me to say what I think." Matthew ran a hand through his hair. "This is something we really don't need right now, Al. It's bad enough that our health insurance isn't going to cover all the cost of the surgery from when I broke my wrist, and now this?"

Alfred sighed. "I know, okay? So shut up already."

"You have to start being more responsible! Money doesn't grow on trees, Al! Do you _want_ us to go into debt or something? I'm going to have to ask Dad if I can borrow money from him if you keep pulling this kind of crap-"

Alfred was on the verge of saying 'fuck it' and leaving the room. "Matt, _please_ shut up."

"Or what? I don't care if you yell at me, Al. Big fucking deal. I just want you to tell me what you're going to do so we can actually pay all the goddamn bills! So what if you're stressed out? So am I! And you know why? Because I'm doing all I can, I've taken extra hours at work, and you just go to the gym or sit on your ass and watch baseball all the damn time!"

"_SHUT UP!"_ Alfred yelled, whatever was holding him back finally snapping. Matthew flinched, his eyes wide, and Alfred realized he had raised a hand and was about to hit him. "Shit," he said quietly, then quickly walked off and locked himself in the bathroom.

Alfred washed his face, cooling down for a moment, and when he looked at himself in the mirror without his glasses on, he could see his dad reflected there. "I'm my father's son," he murmured, and stared at his reflection for a moment. He remembered the bruises on his mother's arm, the horrible, cruel things his father said to her, how she cried and begged for him to stop, how she made Alfred lock himself in another room so he wouldn't get hurt. Alfred didn't want to do that to Matthew. He couldn't. But… what if he could?

Alfred put his hands over his face, blocking out his reflection, and let himself slide down the bathroom wall until he was sitting on the floor, tears welling up in his eyes. He tried so hard not to end up like his dad, but it didn't work. He was just as bad. Sure, maybe he hadn't hurt Matthew yet, but he would've, if he hadn't jumped away like that. He had looked at Alfred like he was some total stranger. He had never looked at Alfred like that before.

A knock came at the door. "Al? Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

Matthew stood outside the door in silence for a moment before asking, "Can you unlock the door for me?"

Alfred stood up and unlocked the door for Matthew. When he opened the door, he didn't look angry or scared like Alfred thought he might've. He looked more worried than anything. Alfred threw his arms around Matthew, burying his face into Matt's sweater. "I'm so sorry, Mattie!"

"Shh." Matthew stroked his hair gently. "It's okay," he murmured.

"No it isn't! I'm turning into my dad."

"No, you're not."

"I am," Alfred insisted. "I was about to hit you, and-"

"You didn't, though."

"I would've."

Matthew was silent for a moment. He pulled back from Alfred, who thought Matthew was about to walk out and leave, until Matthew put his hands on Alfred's shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. He did this sometimes, and it was almost like he was looking inside Alfred's mind. He stood there, letting Matthew analyze whatever he was seeing on Al's face.

After a moment, Matthew shook his head. "I don't care that your dad was an alcoholic. I don't care that he was abusive. You're not like him, I'm sure of it. You just learned when you were growing up that violence was the normal reaction to annoyance or anger, but you can change that. It's okay."

"Are you saying that it's my dad's fault I get angry like that?"

"Probably." Matthew kissed Alfred's forehead.

Alfred closed his eyes. Just another reason to hate the man. What would Alfred's mother think if she knew Alfred had turned out just like him in the end?

"Hey." Matthew leaned his forehead against Alfred's. "Calm down. Everything's okay."

Alfred shook his head. "I thought I knew myself. I thought I was better than that."

"You are. As soon as you realized what you were about to do, you stopped. It's all right."

Alfred stood there, letting Matthew calm him down, leaning on him as much as he could. Matthew was too good for him sometimes. He didn't say that, because he knew Matthew would disagree, but he thought it. He knew it was true.

When they went to bed that night, Alfred couldn't sleep. He just lay there, wondering what he was going to do. What if that ever happened again? If Matthew wouldn't leave him because of that, Alfred knew he would have to leave. In fact, maybe he should've just packed a bag and left as soon as that happened. He didn't want anything else to happen. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Matthew. He loved Matthew, and people don't hurt the ones they love. He tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Eventually he just stared up at the ceiling and sighed. Matthew must've woken up at some point, since he pulled Alfred into his arms and kissed his cheek. When Alfred rested his head against Matthew's chest, feeling Matthew's hand run through his hair soothingly, he found he could fall asleep.

He woke up the next morning, still cradled in Matthew's arms, and he realized that maybe it wasn't Matthew he needed to worry about. Maybe he should've been worrying about himself. He was the vulnerable one, after all. He was the emotionally unstable one. Matthew could take care of himself just fine, and he seemed prepared to help Alfred through anything.

Matthew was already awake, and he kissed Alfred on the forehead. "Good morning."

"There's something I need to say."

"Okay."

"If I ever almost hit you again, I want you to stop me. Even if I tell you to let go of me, you'd better not. We both know you're strong enough to hold me still."

"That's fine."

"And I want you to promise me something, okay?"

"I'm listening."

"If I ever hit you out of anger, you need to leave."

Matthew didn't say anything.

"Promise me, okay?"

"I'm not going to make a promise I know I won't keep." Matthew forced Alfred to look him in the eyes. "I love you, and I've known you long enough to know that you're not that kind of person. I'm a little at fault here, too. When I get mad, I just rant and rant until I'm done. I used to make my mom cry, the way I'd go on forever. Dad could only ever get me to shut up by slapping me upside the head, by the way. Those were the only times he ever hit me, and I deserved it."

"Oh."

"Yeah. You were never around when I got really angry, so you never saw that. We both need to work on this together, okay?"

"Okay."

Matthew kissed Alfred quickly. "Now come on, we need to get ready for work."

Alfred got up reluctantly, wishing he could've just stayed in bed all day and talked things over with Matthew. But no, he had to go to work. Especially now, with that goddamn three hundred dollar speeding fine. "Hey, Mattie?"

"Yes?" Matthew was buttoning up his shirt, but he paused and turned to face Alfred.

"I really am sorry about the stupid speeding ticket."

Matthew shook his head. "Don't worry. We'll figure it out. And I'm sorry I overreacted."

"It's okay." Alfred grabbed a clean pair of pants. "And Mattie?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Matthew smiled. "I know."

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_Thank you for reading. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated._


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